"Ogata, do you have any information on the upper ranks of the Tyger Claws?"
"Tyger Claws leadership?"
Ogata, on the other end of the call, heard Karl's request and immediately responded: "Did any of them piss you off?"
"I believe a fixer doesn't need to ask the client why they want a job done, right?"
Karl didn't bother explaining, but Ogata had already read between the lines.
"In that case, I should probably pity whoever pissed you off… But Karl, you should know—I've got ties with the Tyger Claws. This info won't come cheap."
"Relax. The people I want aren't from your circle. I know the rules. The ones I'm after are your rivals. I want the list of Tyger Claws execs managing Clouds. Every single one."
"Clouds, huh..."
As a seasoned fixer and Westbrook's local power player, Ogata quickly connected Karl's request to intel she already had. She knew exactly what he was planning.
"This is about the girls trafficked into Clouds, isn't it?"
Karl said nothing. Ogata didn't need him to. She sensed no risk—only opportunity.
"The list isn't hard to get. But if you want movement schedules, it'll cost extra."
"Really milking it, aren't you?"
Karl had to hand it to her. "You know it benefits you, and you're still squeezing me."
"Small business survival, Karl. If you were the real client, I'd give you a discount for old times' sake. But—"
Her voice took on a deliberate calm: "If I'm right, the real client is that merc who just recovered—who came to me wanting suicidal intel on the Tyger Claws. If so, then no discounts."
"Even if I'm paying for it?"
"If it weren't you asking, he wouldn't even qualify to buy from me. A guy that reckless is a liability. If word got out I sold him that info? My shop wouldn't last."
"So me buying it is insurance."
"Selling to a lone merc who might die tomorrow isn't the same as selling to KK."
"Fine."
No point hiding anything—she'd seen through it all.
Top-tier fixers like Ogata knew exactly how far to go.
Karl glanced at the money Andy had given him.
"How much?"
"50,000 eddies. Not a single eddie less, but not a single eddie more."
For details on Clouds execs and their movements, it was a steal. Clearly, Ogata still offered a partial discount—discreet, but meaningful. The amount Andy had left with Karl was more than enough.
"When can I expect it?"
"Soon."
Karl, knowing her phrasing from previous work, translated that to two or three days.
"Payment sent. Send the file to this number."
"Relax. I know how this works."
With that, Ogata ended the call. Karl looked at the remaining eddies—148,405. He kept 405 for himself and sent the other 148,000 to Johnson.
Johnson: ?
Karl: Take him to a ripperdoc. I'll send you the address. Viktor, in Watson. Heard of him? Get Andy some new chrome.
Johnson: Wait—wasn't that Andy's whole payment for the info?
Karl: I already got paid.
Staring at his updated balance, Karl added: "This is my investment in Andy. Once he's done with the Tyger Claws, I want him to join your unit."
Johnson: My unit? Why?
Karl: I want to plant a few people in NCPD. People I can trust.
Johnson: Are you seriously saying that to a police lieutenant? I could arrest you. What do you mean, 'plant your people'? You treating NCPD like your personal gang now?
Karl: Isn't it already?
Johnson wanted to object—but couldn't.
Johnson: So now you're not just a merc—you're planning to be a gang boss too?
Karl: Not even close.
Karl paused, then messaged: "I'm just putting some people in the city's biggest gang. Think of it as future tribute. If it helps, you can call it a personnel bribe."
Johnson: Karl, what the hell are you trying to do?
Karl: I was just thinking of something.
Johnson: Something?
Karl: Cops… should still be good people.
There was a long silence before Johnson replied:
Johnson: There are no good people in Night City.
Karl: Then become commissioner. Be the good one, Johnson.
Night City's laws differ from the New United States. One key difference: the NCPD commissioner isn't appointed by the mayor. They're promoted from within—an internal vote.
This isn't just because NCPD acts independently of the city government, but also due to corporate power struggles. No megacorp wants the mayor controlling too much muscle.
NCPD has five ranks: regular officers, street supervisors, lieutenants, precinct chiefs, then deputy commissioners and the commissioner.
Johnson had only been a lieutenant for three months.
But who said he couldn't climb higher?
Karl certainly believed in him.
As Johnson stared at the message—"become commissioner"—he wasn't even sure what he felt.
But his heart had already answered.
It beat faster. Brighter. As if it had decided before he had.
And so he replied:
Johnson: Then I'll take your bribe… and give it a shot.
He'd joined the force at eighteen. Sixteen years as a beat cop. Eleven more lost in low-rank obscurity.
And now, because of a single line from a young merc—he was ready to try again.
Sounded like a joke.
But Johnson would try.
Even a joke… is worth laughing at.
.
.
.
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